I’m 30/F and my mother breastfed me for an abnormally long time.
She was a single mother for the majority of my life until I left for college. She was caring and supportive in every way as a parent. She encouraged my interests with enthusiasm and showed up to any recitals, video camera in hand. We didn’t always live in the best places, but we made due. I was raised to be diligent and hard-working because of the example she set, and everyone who knew her adored her.
But there was…just that thing we did. It literally started when I was a baby so it was completely normal for us. I think some part of me knew it was taboo because I never really told any of my friends. It’s not like my mom was lactating for my entire life.
Sometimes, to me, it felt like a ritual. Almost every night, after I was done with my evening bath or shower I’d go to my room to put on some panties and a robe or a long t-shirt. I walked through the cold hallway on our hardwood floor to her room. Usually by the time I got there I was ready for her warmth. She was almost always sitting in bed with just her nightstand lamp on, reading whatever romance novel she was on. If I visited her, it was never forced or compulsory, and we never really talked about it…but her door was always cracked.